


the sidewalk angels echo hallelujah

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Sex, Big Dick Richie Tozier, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Jewish Richie Tozier, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Mike Denbrough, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Stanley Uris Lives, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 11:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21373294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: Richie’s not sure what he expects when Eddie calls on the night of December 24th, but it’s certainly not for Eddie to immediately demand, “What are you doing for Christmas tomorrow?”“Uh,hi,”Richie says pointedly.“Dickhead,” Eddie replies.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 74
Kudos: 1327





	the sidewalk angels echo hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

> november 9th = tis the season, right?
> 
> Title taken from ["A New York Christmas,"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=seK6XT3pQIs) originally by Rob Thomas but I keep listening to this cover by Andy Karl.

Richie’s not sure what he expects when Eddie calls on the night of December 24th, but it’s certainly not for Eddie to immediately demand, “What are you doing for Christmas tomorrow?”

“Uh, _ hi,” _ Richie says pointedly.

“Dickhead,” Eddie replies.

“Charming,” Richie says back. “You know, I can go, if you—”

“No,” Eddie interrupts. “No, no, I— Hello. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Richie hops up on his bed and leans back against the headboard. “Hi, Eds. What did you want to know? I already forgot.”

“What are you doing for Christmas tomorrow?” Eddie repeats, slowly, like Richie's dumb. Richie hesitates for a second, wondering if it’s a real question, but Eddie doesn’t continue. Richie huffs a laugh.

"I'm fucking Jewish, you fuckwad," Richie answers, just as slowly, because Eddie deserves it a little bit for forgetting. There's a moment of silence.

"I—" 

"You came over to _my_ _house _on the last day of Hanukkah," Richie continues. "Did you hit your head?"

Eddie sighs. "No, I just— I'm a little drunk."

Richie sits up a bit. "Continue."

"I realized I don't have any plans for Christmas tomorrow and everybody's got somebody except—" Eddie stops. Richie lets it hang for a moment.

"Me and you?" Richie prompts finally. "Again, because I'm Jewish."

"Shut up," Eddie says. "You're also single."

"What a flattering phone call." Richie yawns, runs his hands through his hair. "Only nine o’clock tonight and you've already forgotten my religion _ and _reminded me that I'm alone. You know, the night’s still young. Anything else? 'Hey, Rich, remember when that killer clown fried your brain—'"

"Fucking _ never mind, _I'll just—” Eddie starts to say, but Richie straightens up a bit, says, “No, no, I’m just teasing.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Eddie says, “I didn’t want to be alone on Christmas.”

“That’s all you had to say,” Richie tells him. “I’ll spend Christmas with you, you dickhead. I wasn’t really planning on doing anything tomorrow before dinner except laying around watching Netflix, so. What do you want to do?”

“You can come over,” Eddie says. “If you want. And we could carpool to dinner afterwards.”

Ben and Bev invited all of the Losers over to their place for a Christmas dinner, and everyone is able to go this time, _ unlike _ Thanksgiving, which Bill and Mike fucking _ missed, _so. Richie’s itching a little bit just thinking about tomorrow night, because he wants it to hurry up and get here. Spending the entire day with Eddie beforehand is such an unexpected fucking gift that he briefly considers the possibility of a Christmas miracle.

“Sure,” Richie tells him. “When do you want me?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“To come over,” Richie finishes, but it’s already weird.

“I, uhh—” Eddie says, then stops. “Well, actually, I— usually do— Christmas Eve is also a—”

“Oh, you want me to come over _ now,” _ Richie interrupts. _ “That’s _why you’re being so cagey. This is a Christmas Eve booty call.”

“It is _ not _a booty call,” Eddie spits. “I fucking regret calling you.”

“You do not, I’m your entertainment for the next twenty-four hours,” Richie tells him. “I’m on my way. Do you need anything?”

“No,” Eddie says. “Drive carefully, dumbass.”

“That’s… sweet?” Richie replies. “I won’t, though. I’m nothing if not a reckless driver, which, pot kettle—”

“I am _ not _ a reckless driver,” Eddie argues. “I am an _ assertive _driver—”

“You’re an asshole with more road rage than your tiny little body has space for—”

“I hate you,” Eddie states, “I do, I don’t know why I thought calling you—”

“You know, I saw a tweet that says gay people can’t drive, maybe that’s why,” Richie comments.

There’s a beat of silence. After everything that happened, after Derry and Pennywise and all that, after Stan pulled through and Eddie healed up and everybody started moving on, Richie thought he should start moving on, too, and he’d come out to the other Losers the day Eddie was released from the hospital. They’d been supportive and it had been nothing like the absolute disaster Richie had imagined coming out would be when he was thirteen, but the strangest part had been Eddie. Eddie hadn’t said anything and then, afterwards, he’d told Richie quietly that he was gay, too. It was— bewildering, in a similar way, to think about Eddie Kaspbrak being gay, just like he was, to think of all that time he spent feeling so alone and resenting himself and the way he felt.

That doesn’t mean he’s told Eddie how he feels. He’s out, but he’s still a coward, and he doesn’t want to scare Eddie off after the guy just got a fucking divorce and almost died in fucking _ Maine _in a goddamn sewer. Adding Richie’s decades of intense longing for his best friend on top of that would probably be overkill. Richie bottles it up instead.

“That can’t be true, because I’m actually fucking great at driving,” Eddie shoots back. “Maybe it’s a you thing. What’s your ETA?”

“Am I sleeping over?” Richie asks.

“Like packing a bag takes you longer than thirty seconds.” There’s a shuffling sound on Eddie’s end of the line. “You can if you want to.”

“If you’re already drunk, I’m gonna have to match you, so I’m gonna say yes,” Richie says, because it’s a good reason. It’s definitely better than saying, _ Sounds good, I want to cuddle you and have you all to myself for hours on end, _so it’s probably the preferable option. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

“I am not _ drunk, _ I am _ tipsy— _Wait,” Eddie demands, “Did you say twenty? Richie, this is a half an hour drive—”

“See you in twenty!” Richie playfully repeats, making to hang up the phone.

_ “Drive safer than that,” _Eddie shouts down the phone.

“Love you, too, Eds,” Richie tells him, and finally hangs up. He takes a second, then scrambles out of bed, grabbing a backpack from the back of his closet and shoving his shit into it. Bev had asked him to dress nice tomorrow for dinner, so he crams what he considers a nice, soft grey button-down shirt and a black blazer in with everything else. Belatedly, he remembers his phone charger, but then he’s sliding out of the house and into his car. It’s cold outside and in the car; he shivers as the heat kicks on, rubbing his hands together and lamenting that he forgot his coat. He’s only in his driveway, but he considers that too far, so he just takes off for Eddie’s place.

The streets are emptier than normal, presumably because everybody’s already at their Christmas Eve destinations. The only people out are people like Richie, obviously going directly somewhere. Not many wanderers. Richie’s mind drifts, without much to look at, so he turns on the radio and cranks the volume to fill his head with music instead of thinking about Eddie.

He makes it in a tight eighteen, and Eddie’s in his doorway when Richie pulls up, huddled in a cardigan sweater with his arms all folded up underneath like a grandpa. The sight of him makes Richie far warmer than the car vents do.

“Did you drive here like a lunatic? How fast did you fucking drive, you idiot?” Eddie shouts over the freezing wind whipping at their faces. Richie grabs his bag out of the passenger seat and hops out of the car. “Did you not bring a fucking coat? What the fuck is _ wrong _with you, get inside—”

“I forgot,” Richie says, as he slides past Eddie into his house. He pats him on the shoulder and dumps his bag by the door.

“I’d say you probably grew up in a fucking barn if I didn’t know you,” Eddie says. He scoops the bag up and slings it over one of his shoulders.

“That’s why you can say you _ know _I was raised in a barn.” Richie throws his arm across Eddie’s shoulders. “Where are you keeping me? Sofa?”

“Guest room,” Eddie says, and leads the way. Inside his cleaner-than-a-hotel guest room, he drops Richie’s backpack on the mattress, then eyes it for a second. “Hey, Rich, did you bring nice clothes for tomorrow like Bev asked?”

“What?” Richie asks, as he’s untying his shoes. “Uh, yeah, they’re in my bag. Why?” Eddie doesn’t respond, so Richie looks up at him to find him glaring at him. Not uncommon.

“Are you seriously asking me _ why _ it’s a problem that your nice clothes are balled up in this disgusting frat boy backpack?” Eddie asks. He picks up the bag and unzips it, wrinkling his nose as he does. Richie, in a flash, remembers that this is not his college backpack, but it _ is _his one-night-only backpack, the bag he brings for shows when he has to stay overnight afterwards.

Also, tragically, typically the nights he used to seek out one night stands, and so he knows what’ll come out of the backpack even before Eddie upends it onto the mattress. His nice clothes, clothes for tomorrow at Eddie’s, toothbrush, hairbrush, lube, condoms, phone charger, notebook and loose pens, little wrapped gifts for his friends, and a separate additional wrapped gift for Eddie.

Eddie stares down at the pile. He looks back up at Richie.

“This was _ not _a booty call,” Eddie says again, and Richie’s heart sinks, even though he didn’t actually plan for this to happen.

“No, I know,” Richie says. “This is— uhh. It’s— old?”

Eddie wrinkles his nose again, looking back down at the heap of stuff on the bed. “Ugh. Why?”

“I am an adult man,” Richie reminds him. “I have sex with other adult men—”

“Richie, Jesus—”

“Hey, whoa, it’s his birthday tomorrow, chill out with the J-talk,” Richie says, and Eddie snorts a laugh before he can stop himself. Richie takes advantage of the momentary break in the tension that’s making his palms sweat to shove everything except his clothes back into the bag. “Why the fuck did you want my clothes anyways?”

“I want to iron them,” Eddie says. He scoops up all the clothes Richie abandoned, ignores Richie’s broken-off, “Hey, some of that’s just for tomorrow morning—” and leaves the room. Richie watches him go, then looks back down at his backpack. He briefly contemplates tossing it out the window, then considers a little bit longer tossing himself out after it, but decides against it. Instead, he takes his notebook, pens, and the extra gift for Eddie out of his bag. He shoves the rest of the bag under the bed. Out of sight, out of mind, he figures.

After a moment of staring at his hands, Richie makes himself leave the guest room.

“Eds?” he calls. He shuffles down the hallway in his sock feet, listening to signs of life.

“Kitchen,” Eddie shouts back. Richie follows his voice, and, sure as shit, he’s in the kitchen, standing up on his toes and straining to reach a bottle on the top shelf of the cabinet. There’s a line of skin where his sweater’s riding up, a distracting strip between the dark red fabric and his black pants, and Richie only stares for a second before he forces himself to announce his presence with as much noise as possible.

“Hop up on the counter, pipsqueak,” Richie says. He dumps his stuff on the kitchen table and leans up and over Eddie to grab the bottle. It’s an unopened bottle of rum, and Richie grins down at him. “How’d you even get that up there?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie snaps. When Richie looks down at him, his face is red; Richie just assumes he’s already pissed him off, so he backs off, taking the bottle with him.

“What are our mixer options?” Richie asks. Eddie snatches the bottle out of his hand and keeps going past him to a different cabinet.

“I’m making us hot chocolate,” Eddie tells him. Richie doesn’t respond, leaning against the counter and folding his arms across his chest to watch Eddie work. “Thank you. By the way.”

“For?” Richie asks.

“For coming over.” Eddie doesn’t turn around, opening a tin of cocoa and scooping it into two mugs. “I know it’s probably— I know this probably isn’t what you wanted to be doing tonight—”

“Hey, whoa, Eds, no, I wanna be here, dipshit,” Richie tells him. He pushes away from the counter to hover next to Eddie instead, which is far more familiar territory. The other Losers are always teasing them for being all over each other; whenever they do it, Richie pulls away, because he feels caught out in a way he hasn’t since he was sixteen, like they’ll look too deeply and figure out he’s in love with Eddie.

Eddie, for his part, just laughs and shouts at them and touches Richie in return. Just like he did when they were kids. Richie isn’t sure what that means, if it means anything at all.

Again, just like he did when they were kids.

“I don’t go places I don’t want to be,” Richie continues.

“Derry,” Eddie starts to list. “New York—”

“Hey, I wanted to come here, what,” Richie interrupts. “You think I didn’t want to come here?”

Eddie shakes his head, then looks down at the counter. “Richie, when we were in high school, all you could talk about was moving out west.”

“Yeah, Eds, when we were in _ high school,” _ Richie repeats. “I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re forty now, so I _ think _ I’m allowed to change my mind.”

Eddie hesitates, then finally, _ finally _looks up at him, sidelong. It takes a moment before he actually turns to face Richie. “Why?”

“Why what?” Richie asks. “Why’d I change my mind? Because I didn’t have any friends out in L.A., dickbag. I told you that.”

“Yeah, you did,” Eddie responds. Richie quiets.

“I also didn’t have you in L.A.,” Richie answers. “All of— All of you. The Losers. I mean.”

“I know.” Eddie looks up at him. They don’t speak for a moment, then Eddie pulls away, turning his attention back to the mugs. “Can you get— There are peppermint schnapps. On the top shelf again.”

“Sure thing, tiny,” Richie says. He leaves him alone, pushes out of his space and goes back to the cabinet he’d pulled the rum from. He finds the schnapps easy, but he pretends to dig around a little bit to give Eddie a second. He takes a breath himself, staring up at the neat little rows of Eddie’s groceries. He snatches the schnapps bottle.

“Give it,” Eddie orders, holding out his hand. Richie gives it, then leans up and hooks his chin over Eddie’s shoulder to watch him work.

“Peppermint schnapps. How very Christmassy of you,” Richie comments. He’s not sure which mug is his and which is Eddie’s, because they both get a _ very _generous amount of both rum and schnapps before Eddie turns and holds one of the mugs out to Richie. He takes it.

“Merry Christmas, Rich,” Eddie tells him.

“It’s Christmas Eve, Eds,” Richie says, clinking their mugs together. “And I’m still Jewish.”

“You’re such a dick—”

“But, Merry Christmas, Eddie,” Richie says. Eddie pauses, his face flushing again before he smiles a little and clinks their mugs together himself. He takes a sip, so Richie follows suit, and he coughs at first.

“Pussy,” he hears Eddie say, so he chugs half the hot chocolate like he was dared to do it before he glares back down at Eddie.

“I spent the last fifteen years getting really good at that, don’t challenge me, child,” Richie says. Eddie just rolls his eyes and looks away from him, his eyes landing behind Richie.

“What’s that?” he asks, and Richie turns to see the shit he’d abandoned on the table to help Eddie with the rum.

“That is my joke notebook—”

“Do _ not _ use me for material, Richie, I swear to _ God,” _Eddie snaps. Richie laughs, ruffling Eddie’s hair as he passes him to take a seat at the table.

“But you’re such a fucking gold mine, Eds, you neurotic little goblin,” Richie says. Eddie whacks him on the back of the head before sitting in the seat right next to Richie’s. There are four options that aren’t next to Richie’s, but he chose that one. And that’s fine. There’s probably no reason for it, he probably didn’t even think about it, just _ did it, _and it still makes Richie spiral.

“And _ this,” _Richie says, lifting Eddie’s little wrapped gift to distract them both, “is for you.”

“I thought gifts were tomorrow?” Eddie asks. He puts his mug down and holds out one hand, so Richie passes him the silver-papered box.

“Losers gifts are tomorrow,” Richie corrects. “This is a Richie-to-Eddie gift. I remembered you used to do one gift on Christmas Eve when you were a kid, so. Figured I’d bring one to make up the difference.”

Eddie looks at him. “But I… just invited you tonight.” The two of them make eye contact, and then Richie huffs a laugh, looking down into his mug.

“I was just gonna give it to you tomorrow and say I forgot,” Richie confesses. He’s not sure what compels him to be so honest, so he makes up for it by saying, “Caught me in my own web of lies, Kaspbrak. Now I have to grant you three wishes.”

“I wish you’d shut the fuck up,” Eddie says without missing a beat. He slides his finger under the edge of the wrapping paper.

“Oof, sorry, impossible constants can’t be wished out of existence—”

“Then I’ll beg,” Eddie cuts him off. “Rich. Thank you.”

“For what now?” Richie asks. “You’ve thanked me twice, it’s dangerously out of character. Are you actually the Ghost of Christmas Past? I had no idea it could happen to me. I suppose it could happen to anybody, but Stan will never believe me when I—”

“God,” Eddie interrupts. “Thank you for the gift. It’s nice of you.”

“You haven’t even opened it,” Richie points out.

Eddie flushes, looks down. _ Interesting. _ “It’s nice of you to have thought of me, you dickwad. Now, can I fucking open it or not?”

“Open it,” Richie tells him, so Eddie does. He gingerly separates the paper and the tape and ignores Richie’s heckling about it, slides the box out into his hand.

“You gave us Hanukkah gifts,” Eddie says, looking down at the closed box in his hand.

“And you gave me Hanukkah gifts.” Richie taps the top of the box with his fingertip. “Open up, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie says absently as he lifts the top off the box. He lifts a keychain out of the box and frowns at it before recognition abruptly brightens his face and he laughs. “Oh, how do you still _ have _this, Richie?”

“I had a box of shit that gave me weird feelings,” Richie tells him. “It was just, like, a shoebox, but turns out it was a bunch of shit all tangled up in fucking memories I lost, so. Going back through that was fun afterwards.” Richie reaches out, and Eddie passes the keychain over. Richie had made it for him one summer, and Eddie had made one for him in return, the two of them sitting and weaving the threads together so carefully. It was one of the few things Richie focused well on. After that, Eddie had helped him save up to get a guitar. Something else creative to do with his hands.

He lost so much when he lost Eddie.

“I still have mine, too,” Richie tells him. He digs into his pocket and pulls out his keys, drops them into Eddie’s palm. “See?”

Eddie lifts the keychain out, his thumb rubbing against the worn thread of the little kid’s keychain he made decades ago. “I can’t believe you kept these.”

“I can’t believe I ended up with yours,” Richie says. “I can’t remember why.”

Eddie looks down at their keychains, then reaches out again. Richie hands his back over.

“Because,” Eddie says, “I gave it to you with a key on it. To my dorm. They sent me two keys and I gave you one of them and told you to give me the key and the keychain when you came to visit me.”

“And I never did.” Richie rubs at the back of his neck. “That’s right. Fuck.”

“And I never knew,” Eddie finishes, “because we forgot.” He shakes his head, his fingers closing around the keychain Richie made for him. “Richie, you…” He huffs a laugh, looking away and rubbing at his face.

“Are you crying?” Richie asks, because he’s an idiot. Eddie glares at him, but, yeah, he’s crying. Richie scoots his chair closer and pulls Eddie in. He can feel the moment of tension, the moment where Edward Kaspbrak stiffens at the touch of another human person, but he can also feel the moment where Eddie remembers this is Richie and sinks into him.

“I missed you guys so much,” Richie says, when Eddie doesn’t speak. “I didn’t even know what I was missing, but I knew I was missing it. Whenever I looked in that box, Eds, and I saw that keychain and the key— I fucking knew I was missing something. I always knew I had somewhere to be, I just— never found where to go.”

Eddie shakes his head again, this time against Richie’s chest and his neck, all tucked up under his arm. Richie squeezes him, and Eddie moves back, wiping under his eyes.

“You suck, Rich,” Eddie says. “I didn’t—”

“I don’t want anything,” Richie cuts him off. He reaches out and lifts his own keychain again. “I got mine back, too.”

Eddie looks down at the keychain in his own hand. There’s two keys attached to it. Eddie frowns, then looks up at him.

“Your dorm key,” Richie says. Eddie laughs.

“Oh, you ass, I had to pay a replacement fee for that,” Eddie tells him. “Fuck, I always wondered what the fuck they were talking about. They kept insisting I had two keys and I kept telling them I only ever got one. Looks like I was just being a dick.”

“Alert the fucking media, it’s the first time!” Richie exclaims. Eddie smacks him on the chest and leans back in his chair. “And, uhh, the other one. That’s— It’s just the key to my place. Here. In New York.”

Eddie looks down at the key again, his face going all red and weird again. “You— I thought you were renting.”

“I’m buying.” Richie puts his head in his hand and observes Eddie’s microexpressions. “I want to stay. I meant it, Eds, this is the only place I want to be.”

“Why are you giving me a key?” Eddie asks.

“Because you’re my best friend,” Richie tells him. “I want you to come over anytime you want. I also know I’ll probably lose my key and you’re my most reliable friend.”

Eddie doesn’t smile. He just looks at Richie, then he sighs. “Yeah, I am. I’ll hold onto it, Rich.”

“Use it,” Richie tells him. “I mean it. Come over. Drop in.”

“People dropping in unexpectedly is literally the worst thing you can do to another person,” Eddie says, “I’m not going to fucking just show up at your house—”

“Eddie, you’re not people,” Richie reminds him, like he’s dumb, because he is, “Man, you’re _ Eddie. _ That means _ you _can drop in unexpectedly, since whatever it is I’m doing is bound to be, like, ten times better with you there anyways.”

Eddie just keeps fucking looking at him with those big dark eyes he has. “Whatever you’re doing?”

Richie’s mind flashes back to the contents of his backpack, and he _ knows _his face goes red, but so does Eddie’s. Richie, again, is terminally stupid, so he jokes, “Why, you interested in testing the theory?”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie says. He lifts the keychain again. “Thank you. I’ll text before I stop in.”

“Afraid of catching me in a—”

“I said _ stop,” _ Eddie snaps. Richie’s mouth closes, and Eddie doesn’t look at him. He just keeps looking down at the keychain now. “Jesus Christ, Richie, just because I told you I’m gay doesn’t mean you have to make me the target of all your fucking sex jokes.”

Richie frowns at him. “What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t make you the butt of my—”

“Yes, you _ do,” _ Eddie says. “Fucking _ stop.” _

Richie’s face heats up, and he’s embarrassed and angry because he must be doing that, he _ must _ be, but it’s not because Eddie’s gay, it’s just because Eddie’s _ Eddie, _ and that’s somehow so much worse, so _ monumentally _worse than Eddie’s already assumed. Richie shoves his chair back from the table and stands up.

“You know what, Eddie? Go fuck yourself,” Richie snaps before leaving the room. He feels sick to his stomach and the back of his nose is prickling and hot, but he keeps going until he finds Eddie’s bathroom and locks the door behind himself. He sits on the edge of his bathtub.

“Get it together,” he mutters at himself. He rubs at his face, forcing himself to calm down and breathe for a second. He tries to think of what to do, but he can’t think of any scenario where he goes out there and Eddie doesn’t tell him to just go home, so he resolves to get his stuff together and leave first. He can call him in the morning and apologize. Then, everything will be fine by the time dinner comes, and Eddie will have forgotten all about why Richie might be making a lot of jokes about him in particular for the last thirty-odd years.

“Richie?” Eddie’s voice calls from the other side of the door. There’s a knock. “Hey, Rich, you okay?”

Richie exhales slowly, then claps his hands down on his thighs and stands. “Yup, I’m just fine, buddy, I’m gonna get out of your hair—”

He opens the door, and Eddie’s right in front of him, barely six inches away, and Richie stops talking. Eddie’s all red-faced and angry-looking, and Richie frowns.

“Why are _ you _ upset?” Eddie demands.

“Because you just fucking yelled at me, dickhead,” Richie says. “I’m allowed to be fucking upset.”

“I asked you to stop making gay jokes about me—”

“They’re not _ gay _ jokes—”

“Then what the fuck are they, Richie?” Eddie asks. “Because you’ve been making them since we were fucking kids, so fucking— _ excuse me _for assuming you just made those jokes because you knew I was gay—”

“Eddie, I didn’t know you were gay, fucking _ trust me—” _

“Then _ why?” _Eddie demands again.

“Why _ what?” _Richie asks. “You’re so fucking confusing, you talk so fucking much so fast—”

“Oh, go fuck yourself, Richie,” Eddie snaps at him.

“No, you go fuck _ yourself,” _ Richie says. “I made those jokes because _ I _ was gay— I _ am _ gay, I’m gay— and I was m—” He stops, then makes a frustrated noise. “Eddie, _ move, _I’m going home.”

“No, finish your sentence,” Eddie orders him, slamming his hand into the doorframe to block Richie’s passage. “You’re gay and you’re what? A moron? What?”

“Eddie—”

“Richie, _ what—” _

“Eds, I fucking swear, if you don’t—”

“What the fuck could it possibly—”

“I was in love with you!” Richie explodes. Eddie stares up at him, silent, and Richie’s heart is pounding. His hands are slick with sweat, and he feels like he might pass out, with the weight of this fucking _ thing _he kept trapped inside for so long finally bursting out. He shuts his eyes, then says, “Am.”

“What?” Eddie asks, and it sounds small and choked.

“I _ am,” _Richie corrects, “still in love with you.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t, and then he doesn’t, and then he _ still fucking doesn’t, _ and Richie knows he’s ruined absolutely fucking everything, that Eddie doesn’t even want to try going on one fucking date with him and it’ll make everything weird with their friends and the group will splinter apart again and Richie will end up all alone, this time with his memories intact, and he can’t do that again, he _ can’t— _

“Richie,” Eddie finally says, and Richie shudders before turning towards Eddie’s sink and vomiting down the drain. Eddie’s hands grab his hair and pull it up out of his face. Richie huffs a humorless laugh.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he manages. He spits into the sink, then runs the water. “Oh, fuck, Eddie, I’m _ so _ fucking sorry—”

“I really wish you hadn’t just thrown up,” Eddie says, his voice soft, “because I want— Richie, I want to kiss you so badly, but that was so disgusting, I can’t even—” He gags, then turns away. “Oh, God, there’s something _ so _ wrong with you.”

Richie’s mind is spinning, and he still feels sick and dizzy and confused but he heard— he _ knows _ he heard, _ “Richie, I want to kiss you so badly,” _and he’s freaking out a little bit.

“What?” Richie asks, dazed.

“Well, I don’t know what _ did it, _ maybe you were dropped on your head when you were a newborn, but you—”

“No, what did you _ say,” _ Richie corrects. “Before.” Eddie looks at him, looks _ hard, _all red-faced and strange, then holds up a hand.

“Stay here,” Eddie orders, and leaves the room. Richie watches him go, feeling like he’s missing a couple fucking pages in this story, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he takes his glasses off and splashes his face with cold water. Eddie returns and taps Richie on the arm.

“Take this,” Eddie tells him, so Richie reaches out blindly. Eddie puts his toothbrush in his hand. Richie frowns. “Brush your fucking teeth, Richie.”

“Okay,” Richie says, still feeling like he’s drowning, out of his depth. He grabs Eddie’s toothpaste off the sink and does as he’s told, Eddie watching him like a weird little hawk until he spits into the sink and rinses his mouth. He turns to Eddie, who frowns.

“Put your glasses on,” he tells him. Richie does, and Eddie smiles a little bit. Richie feels warm and honeyed at the look, but still bewildered and frightened and tense, so tense his heart is _ pounding. _

“Eddie, I’m sorry,” Richie tries again. “I shouldn’t’ve— You deserved better than—”

“Getting that screamed in my face?” Eddie says. “Yeah, I mean, probably. That was sort of a dick move, Rich, I don’t know why I’d expect any different from you.”

“Please don’t be mad at me,” Richie says.

“I’m not mad—”

_ “Please _don’t leave—”

“Hey, I’m not gonna leave,” Eddie says. “Where the fuck would I go? It’s my fucking house.”

Richie huffs a laugh, looking away. After a moment, Eddie’s hand touches his face, and he applies the _ tiniest _bit of pressure, just enough for Richie to feel. Richie lets his face be turned by Eddie until they’re looking at each other again, his heart thrumming in his chest like a bird is trapped in his ribcage. His hands feel numb.

“I meant don’t leave _ me,” _Richie says. “Don’t leave me, Eds. It doesn’t— We don’t have to talk about it.”

“You’re so infuriating,” Eddie tells him. Richie’s crushed. “Hey. Look at me.”

Richie does, lets his eyes flick up to meet Eddie’s. Eddie smiles at him again, and Richie really starts to wonder if he might be allowed to have this. It starts to sink in, a little bit, with Eddie’s hand holding his face, his big dark eyes on him, and those fucking words ringing in his ears, over and over, _ “Richie, I want to kiss you so badly.” _

“Do you really want to kiss me?” Richie asks.

“Yes,” Eddie tells him. “I have for a while, Rich.”

“Well, fuck me, what a waste of our time,” Richie exclaims, and Eddie’s other hand comes up to hold Richie’s face, too, as he pulls him down to meet his mouth. Richie catches up quick, ducks down to kiss him properly, cupping Eddie’s jaw in his hands.

Eddie pulls back after only a couple of seconds, but he stays only an inch away. “What a waste of our time,” he agrees, before kissing him again, his hands sliding up into Richie’s hair, arms slung over his shoulders, dark, messy hair curling around his fingers. Richie can’t help himself, he _ can’t; _he turns Eddie and backs him up against the wall.

“Richie, fuck,” Eddie hisses, and Richie pulls back.

“Too much?” Richie asks. Eddie looks him over, then shakes his head.

“No, I just don’t want to fucking— do this in my bathroom,” Eddie says. Richie holds his face between his hands again and makes him make eye contact. “Richie, what—”

“Do you want this?” Richie asks. It’s probably the most serious he’s ever been with Eddie. Eddie looks right back up at him, nods.

“Yes,” Eddie says. “Richie, when I was— When we were kids, I used to think about kissing you—”

“Damn it, Eddie—”

“—and when I saw you again, it all came back,” Eddie continues, “but, Richie, I don’t just want to kiss you anymore, I want to fucking—”

“What?” Richie asks, kissing him again, and Eddie laughs against his mouth. “What, Eds? What do you want to do?”

“God, I love you, Richie,” Eddie tells him. “I love you, too, and not— It’s not how I love Bill, and it’s not how I love Mike, Richie, it’s— It’s different, I’ve always known it was different but I _ knew _ it was something _ more, _ something—” Eddie makes a frustrated sound, then kisses Richie again. “I don’t know. I don’t know, Richie, it’s just— It’s _ you. _I’m so stupid for you, Richie, I didn’t know what to do about it.”

“Fuck it,” Richie says, kisses him, kisses him _ again, _ and Eddie grabs Richie’s hips and tugs him closer.

“I want to kiss you,” Eddie says again. “But, Richie, if you’ll— If I can, Richie, I, I want to date you, too, and I want to—”

Richie tips Eddie’s head back, kisses his cheek and down his jaw, follows the line of his throat. Eddie’s hands snap up to clutch his arms.

“I want to have sex with you,” Eddie says, and it’s almost clinical, but then he takes a breath and says, “Richie, I want to fuck you,” and it’s such a fucking shivering turn-on that Richie has to kiss him again. This time, Eddie’s the one that separates them.

“Not in my fucking _ bathroom, _Richie,” Eddie repeats. Richie kisses him, then pulls back and edges towards the doorway. He realizes he has multiple options, so he turns back.

“Where do you want me to go?” Richie asks.

“My room, go to my room,” Eddie tells him, so Richie does, grabbing Eddie by the hand and tugging him down the hall with him to Eddie’s bedroom door. Eddie shoves it open and pushes Richie inside, knocks his knees against the bed so he has to sit down on the mattress. Eddie climbs into his lap and kisses him again. He holds Richie’s face, leans up so Richie has to tip his head up to kiss Eddie, which is deliciously new. Richie licks into his mouth, and Eddie groans against his lips.

“Fuck,” Eddie whispers, hands fumbling for Richie’s sweater. He yanks it off over his head and gets Richie caught in the flannel shirt underneath, all twisted around his arms. Eddie takes advantage of the opportunity to kiss Richie’s throat.

“Eds, _ c’mon,” _ Richie says, and Eddie comes back up to kiss him again. He opens his mouth, tips his head, and deepens the kiss, and Richie goes along for the ride, lets Eddie kiss him and open him up under his tongue and his hands.

“Richie, please let me fuck you,” Eddie asks, and it’s so fucking _ polite _for some reason that Richie laughs.

“Yes, you may, m’lord,” Richie tells him. Eddie thumps him on the arm, and it’s so quintessentially Eddie that some of Richie’s nervousness goes away. This is _ Eddie, _who has seen the absolute literal worst of Richie and is somehow still here, in his lap, kissing him like he needs the air out of his lungs to survive.

“You’re such a dickhead,” Eddie says. “I can’t believe I told you I love you, now you’re going to be fucking insufferable. This does _ not _mean I’m just going to start putting up with your bullshit—”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Richie tells him. “Now, shh, I’m trying to get laid.”

“Fuck you, Richie,” Eddie says.

“I mean, that’s the fucking plan, Eds—”

Eddie kisses him again to shut him up, which Richie _ vastly _prefers of all the different options Eddie has found to shut him up over the years. Richie wiggles out of his flannel, finally, leaving him bare-chested in Eddie’s warm bedroom. Eddie leans back, skims his palms over Richie’s skin. Shivers, then leans in to kiss him.

“Take your sweater off,” Richie says. Eddie kisses him for another few moments before he pulls back and strips his sweater and the shirt underneath it off over his head in one movement, tossing it behind himself to the ground. Richie looks up at him, mouth dry. “Why are you so fucking _ jacked, _Eds?”

Eddie flushes. “I go to the gym, dipshit. I take care of my body, what the fuck is your problem?”

“I would say this is the opposite of a problem,” Richie tells him. Eddie glares down at him, then cups his face in his hands and kisses him so fucking slowly Richie almost wants to cry. As it is, he takes Eddie’s hips in his hands and pulls him down so he can grind his cock up into him, and they both groan at the same time.

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, and then he’s stumbling off Richie’s lap to undo his pants and tug them off. Richie does the same, and as soon as they’re both completely stripped down, they both look at each other for a second. Richie laughs. “Shut up.”

“It’s kind of funny,” Richie comments. “Like we’re doing something we’re not supposed to.”

“But we’re adults,” Eddie says, and his eyes track down Richie’s body. He makes a stifled little sound, and Richie grins at him.

“What?” Richie asks.

“Why the fuck is your dick so big?” Eddie demands. Richie blinks at him before he explodes laughing, and it’s only Eddie shoving him back against the mattress that regains his attention. He looks up at Eddie, still half-laughing.

“What the _ fuck _ do you mean, _ why?” _Richie asks, breathless.

“We always fucking assumed you had a small dick because of all the stupid fucking jokes you made all the time,” Eddie says. Richie sits up slightly, propping himself up on his elbows.

“You guys fucking talked about my dick size?” Richie asks. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Things come up, I don’t know!” Eddie exclaims. “It came up, like, _ one time—” _

“And you _ assumed _ I had a small dick?” Richie asks. It’s getting funnier by the fucking second. “You’re _ insane. _Why would I make dick jokes at all if I had a small dick?”

“Overcompensating?” Eddie suggests. “Stupidity? You’re just not funny?”

“You suck,” Richie says. “No, my material’s all from reality, baby.”

“Shut up,” Eddie tells him, pushing him back against the pillows again. Richie goes willingly, because Eddie follows, climbing up over his body so they’ve finally got skin on skin. He takes the opportunity to look at Eddie’s dick, and he remembers Eddie saying he wants to fuck him, and his brain shorts out for a second.

“Please tell me you have lube in here,” Richie says, a little choked.

Eddie climbs off of him, starts rattling through his sidetable while he says, “Yes, thank _ fuck, _because I don’t want to use that fucking lube in your bag from twenty years ago—”

“I’ll have you know I stopped using the shit in that bag as soon as I went to Derry,” Richie tells him. “Except in like, one-on-one sessions, obviously—”

“Why?” Eddie asks, as he tosses Richie the lube and a condom and climbs back up over him.

“Why did I stop, or why do I jack off?” Richie asks. Eddie smacks him. “Same answer, actually, which would be you—”

“Horrible,” Eddie says. “You stopped— Wait, you—”

“One thought at a time, now, Eds, go slow,” Richie tells him. Eddie pops the cap on the lube and coats his hand before reaching down between Richie’s legs.

“Can I?” he asks, and Richie nods, so he does.

“You sure you’re alright with this?” Richie asks, as one finger breaches him and he whimpers. “Ah, fuck—”

“With fucking you? Yes, Richie, I think I’ve made that abundantly clear,” Eddie reminds him, sliding his finger in his ass to the first knuckle.

“Yeah, point taken,” Richie says. “I just thought you might think it’s— I don’t know, gross.”

“It _ is _gross,” Eddie says, “and we’re going to shower when we’re done, but I’m also a grown adult man and I have grown adult needs, Richie—”

“I’ll answer those grown adult needs, babe,” Richie says, in a Voice that’s supposed to be jokingly seductive but ends up genuinely throaty instead. Eddie slides his finger in a little more, and Richie’s head falls back as he exhales. “Have you done this before?”

“To myself,” Eddie says, looking down to watch his hand as he works. He slides to the second knuckle, and Richie groans, reaching down to palm his own cock. Eddie pushes his hand away, takes Richie’s dick in his own hand instead. “Never to someone else. I’ve— I think about it, though. Like you said. I think about you.”

“You’re so fucking hot, Eds, I could die,” Richie tells him, and Eddie slips in the rest of the way. Richie whimpers again. Eddie twists his wrist, crooks his finger, and all the breath punches out of Richie’s lungs as he hits his prostate. “Oh, fucking _ shit—” _

“Ready for two?” Eddie asks. Richie nods, so Eddie pulls out only to press back in with two, scissoring him open so slowly, his hand barely moving on Richie’s dick. Richie bucks up into his fingers, but Eddie just keeps his steady, even pace, adding a third finger in as he goes. Richie shivers.

“I’m ready, I’m ready,” Richie tells him breathlessly, and Eddie removes his hand so he can roll the condom onto his dick and slick himself with lube while Richie watches hungrily. “Eddie, _ c’mon—” _

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Eddie snaps at him. Richie reaches out, catches Eddie’s wrist and slides his fingers up until their palms brush together. Eddie closes his fingers, holds his hand.

“No, you’re not,” Richie agrees. Eddie nods, looking down. “I trust you, Eddie. If you’re not ready now, we don’t have to.”

“No, I’m ready,” Eddie tells him. “I want to. I really fucking want to, Richie, if you’ll let me.”

“You have me all the time,” Richie says. “Always. Carte blanche. I love you.”

Eddie’s cheeks go redder than they already are, blushing up towards his ears, and he looks like a fucking tiny little Disney prince, so Richie pulls him in to kiss again.

“Are you ready?” Eddie asks again. Richie nods.

“Yes,” he says, in case Eddie needs to hear it, and it looks like he does, because that’s what makes him put his hand on his own dick and guide the head into Richie’s ass. Richie relaxes backwards, lets Eddie take over; Eddie does, pushes into him inch by inch until he’s fully seated inside of him.

_ “Fuck,” _Richie whispers.

“I’ve wanted to do this forever,” Eddie tells him. “Years. Motherfucker—”

“Yes,” Richie says, as Eddie pulls out and in again, finding his rhythm, finding his position. He brushes up against Richie’s prostate on a sharp thrust inwards, and Richie gasps, his hands shooting up to grab Eddie’s shoulders. He pulls him in, holds onto him tightly as Eddie fucks into him just like that, hitting his prostate on most of the thrusts in. Richie reaches for his cock again, but Eddie does the same thing, bats his hand away and takes it himself.

Eddie’s grip is still lube-slick and sweaty, and he slides on Richie’s dick easily, jerks him up, and up, and up, ducking his head down as he doesn, mouthing against Richie’s throat. He’s not even kissing, just breathing, hot, open, and Richie shudders, bucking up into Eddie’s hand.

“Yes, Richie, come on,” Eddie murmurs. Richie makes an involuntary sound, soft, in the very back of his throat, and Eddie lifts his head to kiss him again on a thrust in that hits Richie’s prostate so hard he comes in the next beat of his heart, all the breath stolen from his lungs. He can feel his body tensing up and clenching around Eddie’s — but it all feels so fucking _ good, _warm and thick and electric, spreading through his entire body — and he can’t get control over it.

Eddie clutches him close, whispers, “Richie, fuck, _ Richie,” _into his mouth. Richie’s hips buck up again, and Eddie’s coming, too, pushing deep inside Richie when he does, drawing him close like he’s trying to climb inside his skin, and Richie holds him in return. He wraps his arms around Eddie and doesn’t let go until Eddie moves slightly.

“Fuck,” Eddie murmurs on a quiet laugh. He shifts and says, “Brace yourself,” so Richie does, and Eddie slips out of him.

_ “Motherfucker,” _ Richie hisses, and Eddie kisses him on the cheek, burrowing into his side. Richie strokes Eddie’s sweaty hair back from his face; when Eddie leans up to look at him, he does the same. “Think of how many _ years _we could have been doing this, Eds.”

“Think of how many years we still have left to,” Eddie says.

“How many years _ you _still have left to,” Richie corrects, running his hand down Eddie’s side over his muscles, grinning when he laughs. “You’re going to outlive me by probably… thirty years?”

“Don’t say things like that,” Eddie scolds him. He leans in, kissing him lightly. “Will you shower with me?”

“Only if you let me fall asleep literally immediately afterwards,” Richie says.

“Deal,” Eddie agrees, hauling Richie up by the hand and pulling him towards the master bathroom off his bedroom. Richie burns the image into his brain so he can pull it up for the rest of his life.

* * *

“Wake up,” someone says, and Richie frowns, turning his face into his pillow. “Richie, _ wake up.” _

It’s Eddie’s voice, and Richie remembers Eddie—

And then, he _ remembers Eddie, _and he has a brief instinct of heartbreak where he thinks it was all just a dream before he opens his eyes.

“Hey,” Eddie says, leaning up and over him in bed, still naked, cupping Richie’s face in his hand.

“Not a dream, then,” Richie says out loud. Eddie huffs a laugh.

“No,” he says. “No, not a dream, Rich. Real life.”

“Prove it,” Richie challenges, and Eddie kisses him.

“Merry Christmas,” Eddie whispers against his mouth.

“I’m still Jewish,” Richie whispers back.

“Oh, I’m very aware,” Eddie says, and Richie laughs. “But, Merry Christmas anyways.”

Richie thinks about it for a second, then grins. “We get to see everyone later.”

Eddie nods, moving to climb up and out of bed. Richie catches him by the wrist.

“Stay here with me for a second?” he asks.

“Okay.” Eddie leans back against the pillows and, after a moment of self-consciousness, Richie scoots down so his head is on Eddie’s chest. Eddie’s arms come up around him, sleep-warmed, muscle-roped, and strong.

“When do we have to be there?” Richie asks.

“Two o’clock,” Eddie says. Richie hums, and they’re quiet again.

“So, that _ was _a booty call last night,” Richie comments, after a minute. Eddie laughs, kissing the top of Richie’s head.

“No,” Eddie says, before he amends, saying, “Well, not intentionally. I guess it ended up that way.”

“You _ guess,” _Richie echoes. Eddie huffs into his hair.

“You’re so fucking aggravating,” Eddie tells him. He holds him a little bit tighter; Richie turns his face into Eddie’s skin. “What do you want to say to the others?”

“What, about us?” Richie asks. Eddie nods against his head. “Whatever you want. I don’t really— I mean, I care, but you’re…”

He can’t find the right word. He’s not even entirely sure what he means to say.

“What?” Eddie prompts.

“More important,” Richie tries.

“That’s not true.”

“It is to me,” Richie says. “Whatever you want is fine with me, really. I’m easy.”

“Obviously.”

“Pot, kettle, Eds.” Richie kisses his chest, then tips his head up. “Hi.”

“Hey, Rich,” Eddie says. “Come up here.”

Richie does, scales the length of Eddie’s body — not much, but still — until he can meet him in a kiss. He tangles his fingers in Eddie’s hair and deepens the kiss, but doesn’t go any further than that. He tips his head, licks into Eddie’s mouth, their noses brushing as he moves. Without his glasses, he can get even closer than he was last night, and so he does, takes full advantage of it and presses them closer and closer.

He can feel Eddie’s cock against his thigh, can feel it stir and harden, then further, until he’s twitching a little under Richie’s hands as Richie just keeps kissing him. He doesn’t stop, or change what he’s doing, even as his own dick gets hard, too, up against Eddie’s hot skin, and he sighs.

“Richie,” Eddie murmurs, and Richie kisses him harder. Eddie makes soft, intense noises when Richie kisses him, when their tongues brush with a strike of electricity, when his hand strokes over Eddie’s face over and over again.

“I love you,” Richie whispers. Eddie moans a little, and Richie lets him thrust up against him. He cups Eddie’s face, kisses the corner of his mouth, then dives in again, and Eddie groans, hips twitching as he comes against Richie’s thigh. Richie huffs a laugh.

“Fuck you,” Eddie murmurs, reaching down to wrap his fingers around Richie’s dick. Richie makes a stifled, tiny noise, and Eddie starts kissing him again, hard enough that Richie distantly feels Eddie’s cock twitch with interest against his thigh again. He makes a mental note of that as Eddie kisses him so hard he feels like their skin melts together in a slick slide. He comes, too, into Eddie’s grip. Eddie kisses him through it.

“Do we have to shower again?” Richie asks, once he’s breathing normally enough again.

“What the _ fuck _ do you mean, _ do we have to shower again?” _Eddie demands. “You have to shower at least once a fucking day, Richie, and you have to shower after every fucking time you have sex or you’ll get so disgusting, I don’t want to fucking tell people I’m dating you if you don’t shower at least once a fucking day—”

“You’re gonna tell people you’re dating me?” Richie says. “I feel like I’m twelve.”

“I won’t tell them that if you don’t shower,” Eddie threatens. “But we— I mean. If you want to call it something we can—”

“I don’t really know what to call it,” Richie tells him. “Boyfriends?”

“Partners?”

“Husbands?” Richie suggests jokingly, and Eddie stiffens. “I’m sorry—”

“No, no, I just— I hadn’t thought that far,” Eddie tells him. “I wouldn’t— be opposed. After a while. To getting married—”

“One childhood fantasy at a time, Eddie, you’ll kill me,” Richie says weakly. “Focus on the first things first. I am just so—”

“What?” Eddie asks, kissing him softly again. “What are you, Richie?”

“I’m so fucking in love with you,” Richie admits again, because he’ll confess it a million times, a billion times; he’ll tell Eddie every second of every day if he has to, just to make up for the time they’ve already lost.

“I love you, too,” Eddie tells him. “Hey, Rich?”

“Mm?”

“If you really love me,” Eddie says, “then you’ll get in the fucking shower.”

Richie really does love Eddie, because he does get in the fucking shower, and he comes out to find Eddie’s ironed his clothes.

“Beverly called and said we could come over whenever we wanted,” he says, “so I figured you’d want to go sooner rather than later.”

“She did?” Richie asks. Eddie’s quiet for a moment.

“She told me she felt bad I was spending Christmas alone and I panicked and I didn’t want to tell her you were here while you were in the shower so you weren’t here, too,” Eddie confesses in a rush. “So, she said I could go over whenever I want, and I said I’d text you and let you know, too, in case you also wanted to go over early.”

“What, so we can’t fuck six more times?” Richie asks.

“No, we can’t fuck six more times because we’re almost forty,” Eddie tells him. “Get your goddamn clothes on, Richie. And brush your hair, or so help me, I’ll do it for you—”

He does end up doing it for him, because he decides to actually put it up for him, for once, since Richie does pretty much nothing with his hair ever. Richie even tucks his shirt in before he puts his blazer on, which is new for him. Eddie looks him over once he’s fully dressed, and he does a little spin for him.

“Mm,” Eddie says, sounding like he’s not pleased yet.

“What?”

“Are you opposed to a tie?” Eddie asks, and so Richie ends up in a fucking _ red tie _ on a holiday he doesn’t even _ celebrate. _Eddie puts on a blazer himself, then looks in the mirror.

“If _ I’m _ in a fucking tie, _ you’re _in a fucking tie,” Richie tells him, because otherwise he’ll tell him how hot he looks and Eddie doesn’t need him stroking his ego. He’s such an obvious sort of hot that Richie wonders if people won’t believe him when they hear they’re together.

Eddie puts on a green tie, then looks at them both in the mirror.

“You’re kidding me,” Richie says.

“What?” Eddie asks, turning to smooth Richie’s shirt down.

“You put us in red and green, dumbass,” Richie tells him. “We look like a fucking Christmas card, look.” He turns Eddie around to look in the mirror again, at the two of them side-by-side, and he’s struck, momentarily. It’s easy to talk to Eddie, to drape himself over him and tease him and talk to him. It’s a different thing entirely to look at the two of them together with the knowledge that they’re _ together, _and Richie can’t help himself from kissing Eddie on the temple.

“It’s not the worst,” Eddie comments. Richie runs his hand up and down Eddie’s upper arm in slow strokes, and Eddie leans into him.

“We’re never gonna hear the end of it from Stan,” Richie finally says, and Eddie laughs, turning back around to kiss him again. He wraps his arms around Richie’s neck.

“Make it worth it,” Eddie tells him. “Get your coat on, I’m going to drive because I don’t trust you after how fucking fast you got here yesterday, you fucking imbecile.”

“Fine,” Richie sighs, put-upon. “Guess I’ll just have to be turned on in the passenger’s side instead.”

“You disgust me,” Eddie says, pulling him down to kiss again.

Eddie takes twenty-five minutes to drive to Ben and Bev’s place, which is typically a forty-minute drive. Richie hounds him the whole way over his speed and the accident Mike told him about when he first called him.

He also spends the entire ride watching the way Eddie drives. He’s always on high alert, one arm on the wheel at all times. His other hand flies through the air as he speaks, usually arguing with Richie. Every now and then, he reaches over and takes Richie’s hand, or pats his thigh, or his shoulder, and Richie’s so fucking in love with him, it hurts.

“I’m so fucking in love with you, it hurts,” Richie says, because he’s allowed to tell Eddie things like that now. Eddie glances over at him and smiles with this sweet, genuine look on his face, and Richie feels saccharine as fuck about him.

“I love you, too,” Eddie tells him. He reaches out and takes his hand again, squeezes it. “Do not fucking distract me from the road again.”

“Can do, babe,” Richie says.

Ben’s in the doorway when they pull up, and he grins, waving excitedly. Richie bounds out of the car with his bag of gifts in his hands, running at Ben and wrapping him up in a hug, spinning him around.

“You two carpooled?” Ben asks.

“Yeah, Eddie insisted he drive me, he doesn’t trust my driving skills,” Richie tells him. “Now, where’s my favorite girl?”

“You mean the only girl you know?” Bev calls back from inside the house, and Richie runs after her voice until he finds her. He saw her just a few days ago, but every day without the Losers feels very, _ very _long after how long they spent apart.

“Who’s here so far?” Richie asks. Bev laughs as he spins her, too, and puts her down.

“Everyone except Eddie,” Bev tells him.

“Oh, Eddie drove me,” Richie says, reaching back and beckoning to Eddie. Eddie’s got his box of gifts and Ben’s hand on his shoulder, but Eddie smiles at Richie anyways.

“Were you two hanging out?” Bev asks. Richie’s hand starts to fall, and he laughs dryly.

“Uhh— Yes?” Richie says.

“Was that a question or an answer?” Bev asks him, as Eddie and Ben finally catch up to them. “Eddie, honey, hi, you look so nice!”

“Hi, Bev,” Eddie says. “What are you already teasing Richie about?”

“He doesn’t seem to know if you two were hanging out or not,” Bev says. Eddie also huffs a weird fake laugh and chances a side glance at Richie.

“Merry Christmas,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas!” Richie exclaims. “Where’s the rest of the family, Miss Beverly? I thought this dinner started at two o’clock.”

“Clearly we all have dramatic separation anxiety,” Ben jokes warmly.

“Everyone’s in the kitchen,” Bev says. “Come on, give me that, Eddie—”

“What? _ No,” _ Eddie says, “I’m strong, I’m just short, Jesus _ Christ!” _

“Hey, whoa, _ what _did we say yesterday about the J-man’s birthday?” Richie teases. Eddie laughs, bumping his shoulder into Richie as he went.

“You hung out yesterday, too?” Ben asks.

“Well, last night,” Richie says without thinking. Eddie looks up at him with wide dark eyes, and Richie realizes his error too late. “Uhh.”

“You were hanging out last night?” Bev asks gleefully. “It’s only eleven in the morning, Richie. Why were you already—”

“Hey, look, it’s Bill! Bill’s here!” Richie exclaims, shoving open the door to the kitchen. “Bill! I’ve missed you, you son of a bitch, get over here!”

“Hi, R-Richie,” Bill says. Richie tosses his bag of gifts aside and wraps Bill up in a hug. He knows not to ask about Audra, after the huge fight they had about a month ago, so instead he kisses Bill on the cheek.

“We’ve missed you,” another voice says, and Richie shoves Bill away to go to Mike, nearly knocking him over with the force of his hug.

“I’ve missed you, too, man,” Richie tells him. He tips back, then forth, then back again before he releases Mike. “Fuck, we can’t go that long without seeing each other again.”

“Agreed,” Mike says. He releases Richie and he turns.

“Who am I missing?” he says, making eye contact with Stan. Stan rolls his eyes, but he opens his arms. Richie runs to him, hugging him so tightly that Stan grunts a little bit.

“Happy Hanukkah, Richie,” Stan tells him, and Richie laughs, a little wet. He pulls back and kisses Stan on the cheek twice, then does the same to Patty.

“Happy Hanukkah, guys,” Richie replies.

“What the fuck was I hearing about you and Eddie hanging out last night?” Stan asks. “Without me? I’m hurt.”

“He wanted someone to celebrate Christmas with,” Richie tells him. “So he called me and asked if I’d come over, I was the only one without plans.”

Stan looks at him hard for a second, then raises an eyebrow. “Mm-hmm. Because you don’t celebrate Christmas, Rich.”

“Me and Eddie are the only ones who aren’t…” Richie trails off, then stops. He looks at Eddie over his shoulder; Eddie smiles and waves a little bit at him. “…Ah.”

“What?” Stan asks. Richie claps him on the shoulder.

“Gimme a minute,” Richie says. “Eds, come here.”

Eddie looks like he hesitates for a moment, but he does come over to him. Richie slings his arm across Eddie’s shoulders.

“Would you like the honor of telling them what we did last night?” Richie asks. Eddie’s whole face flushes a dark red.

_ “Richie,” _ he hisses. “No, I fucking do _ not, _that’s disgusting—”

“Not—” Richie starts to say, but Stan interrupts him by laughing so loudly it startles Richie into silence.

“Oh, fuck, you’re both so dumb,” Stan says.

“Not _that, _I didn’t mean _ that, _Eds,” Rich finishes. Eddie blanches, looking over at Patty, then Bill.

“Oh, God,” Eddie wheezes. “I didn’t— I fucking— Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, that’s not what I meant, I thought you meant—”

“We know what you thought he meant,” Mike rushes to say. “You don’t need to say it.”

“Eddie and I are dating now,” Richie declares. There’s a beat of silence.

“You’re _ dating?” _Ben demands.

“What do you mean, dating?” Bev asks, before either of them can answer. Richie glances down at Eddie to find Eddie already looking back up at him in confusion.

“We’re… boyfriends?” Richie tries.

“I thought we picked partners,” Eddie says. “I preferred partners, actually—”

“No, did you— I thought you f-fucked,” Bill tells them. Richie frowns at him.

“We _ did _fuck, Bill,” Richie says. “That’s something you can do when you love someone.”

A pin could’ve fucking dropped and Richie would’ve heard it. He has no idea what fucking wavelength he’s on lately, but everyone he knows seems to be on another one.

“They thought we just hooked up,” Eddie suddenly pieces together. Richie amends his thoughts; _ one _person is on his exact wavelength.

“No, I’m in fucking _ love _with him.” Richie tips Eddie’s face up and kisses him, and Eddie’s hands only briefly touch his chest before he pulls away.

“God, not in front of the guys, Rich,” Eddie murmurs.

“I kissed Bill on Halloween,” Mike says. Bill groans as Richie turns around in delight.

“You did _ not,” _ Richie says. “Tell me _ everything.” _

“What the _ fuck _ goes on when I’m not paying fucking attention to you guys?” Bev demands. “You’re all so insufferable! Why do none of you tell me _ anything?” _

“This is really not how I imagined dinner going,” Patty comments quietly. Richie laughs, and Patty cracks a smile at him when he does. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, Pat,” Richie says. Stan claps him on the shoulder, then draws him in.

“You’re such a dick, Rich,” Stan tells him. Richie hugs him again, and Stan pats his back, holding him a little bit longer than he would normally. “You never tell me shit.”

“I told you this when—”

“—we were in detention in freshman year, _ motherfucker,” _ Stan finishes. “Holy shit, you _ did _tell me.”

Richie laughs. “Yes, I fucking did, and I told _ you, too, Bev—” _

“You told me behind the gym during sophomore homecoming!” Bev exclaims. “Goddamnit, Rich, if I’d remembered, I would’ve started pushing you to say something months ago!”

“We _ cannot _gloss over the fact that Mike kissed Bill,” Ben adds. “This is not something I’m willing to let slide.”

“Me, neither!” Richie shouts. “Mike, come _ on, _ those should’ve been the first words out of your mouth! And _ Bill, _ I’m _ ashamed,” _ Richie continues, “because I had a big ol’ crush on you when I was five and I _ never _got a kiss.”

“I kissed you wuh-when I was f-fuh-fourteen, Rich,” Bill reminds him, smiling.

“That was spin the bottle!” Richie exclaims. “That doesn’t _ count, _ it wasn’t _ genuine.” _

“Do _ not _ kiss Bill right now, Richie, or I swear to _ fuck, _I’ll kill you,” Eddie snaps. Richie reels Eddie in and kisses him again.

“We _ need _to spend more time together,” Mike asserts.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Richie says, grabbing his bag. He digs inside and pulls out the six same-sized little boxes he brought for the Losers. “Open my gifts first.”

“We’re not opening gifts yet—”

“I didn’t know we were—”

“No, no, open mine now,” Richie repeats. He tosses one to Bill, then another to Mike. Ben and Bev take theirs, and he presses the last one into Eddie’s hand. He lingers, for a moment, his hand over the box, their fingers brushing. He grins; Eddie smiles up at him.

“What’s this for, Rich?” Ben asks, holding a key up. Eddie frowns, opening up his gift box and looking down at the key inside.

“Another key?” Eddie asks.

“What do you mean, _ another _key?” Bev adds.

“I got us a place to share,” Richie tells them all. They’re all quiet again. “Like a vacation place. Here in New York. I thought, we never spend enough time together, and none of us has enough space to host all of us, and I also have more fucking money than I actually know what to do with, so. I thought this was a good idea. Also a really selfish one, because I want to spend all my time with you guys.”

“Rich, that’s so thoughtful,” Bev says tearfully. Eddie touches Richie’s cheek, then guides him in, kissing him so fucking tenderly. Richie cups Eddie’s face in his hands.

“Joke’s on you,” Richie says. “I’m gonna insist we should go on New Year’s.”

“I’m in,” Bev agrees.

“Deal,” Ben says, sniffling. Richie smiles at him.

“We’ll come,” Patty tells them.

“Us, too,” Mike says. Richie grins at him, too, before he grins.

“What the _ fuck _ could you _ possibly _ mean by _ ‘us,’ _Michael?” Richie asks. Bill looks horrified before Richie’s not paying attention to him anymore, because Eddie’s pulling his attention back down to him.

“Thank you, Richie,” Eddie says quietly.

“Again with the thank yous,” Richie replies. “I’m telling you, it’s unsettling.”

Eddie looks up at him, his hand still on Richie’s face. He strokes his thumb under Richie’s eye, then leans up to kiss him again, his back bowing a bit as he does so. He pushes up into Richie, then pulls back.

“What do you want for your last wish?” Richie asks.

“Stay with me,” Eddie replies.

“Done and done,” Richie tells him, ducking his head down to kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> You can talk to me on Twitter at [@nicolelianesolo](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [the sidewalk angels echo hallelujah [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28095468) by [singinginmay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/singinginmay/pseuds/singinginmay)


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